Devotion
by GHOSTSherri
Summary: He never asked her to follow him. But she did. He never asked her to do anything. She just knew what he needed, the moment he needed it, and she did whatever he needed. She was devoted to him. He thought she was foolish. He never asked her to step in front of him. He never asked her to save him. She just had. OC DEATH. Sorry it's very short.


**A/N: Actually loosely ties in with my other story, Sacrifice Yourself. Just a random little angsty thing I wrote, actually before I wrote SY. Read and review please? And check out Sacrifice Yourself for more elaboration about this.**

He knew she was good, he had spent almost a week looking over her file before he finally agreed to let her join. She would be a good asset to the team.

He never asked her to follow him. But she did. He never asked her to shoot that man. But she had. He never asked her to join him. She just did.

She let the gun drop slightly, making sure the gaurd was dead. One more shot to the head, you could never be too sure. Then she turned and holstered the gun.

"Are you okay, Sir?" She asked, her hand out to help him to his feet. He nodded slowly. It had been an amazing shot. She had been running, then jumped off a balcony, falling as she shot.

He never asked her to do anything. She just knew what he needed, the moment he needed it, and she did whatever he needed. She was devoted to him. He thought she was foolish.

Even at his betrayal, she stayed with him. She shot one of their own so he could run, so he could get away. She took the fall for him. He never asked her too. She just had, without a word.

He knew she had spent a week and a half enduring the best torture they could come up with. He was absolutely amazed that she hadn't spilled everything she knew to them. She told him she could be quiet, and this just proved her devotion to him. Such devotion could not go unrewarded.

It was 3 in the morning and she lay trembling on the hard floor, bleeding from more places then she could count. She heard shouts, gunfire and screams and saw the solid wall crumble in front of her. She looked up and smiled, reaching out a shaking hand. For a moment he stared at her, the he turned away from her and said, "Get up or die." And he left. The young woman watched him for a moment and nodded, pulling herself to her feet. He hadn't asked her to follow him, she just did.

He never asked her to step in front of him. He never asked her to save him. She just had.

The brunette man they were fighting aimed, a special bullet in his gun. She screamed out his name and he turned, eyes falling on the gun. On the special cartridge.

Suddenly she was there, arms raised to stop the bullets with the only shield she had. All three slammed into her chest and she fell, slowly, so slowly. He stood, actually in shock, watching as she fell. Such devotion did not deserve to go unrewarded.

Blood seemed to float through the air as she stumbled backwards, the ground racing up to meet her. She didn't cry. Before she collided with the ground, her partner was there, arms wrapping around her as she fell into his chest, fingers scratching at his leather outfit.

Trembling, she put her hand to his face, touching the corner of his glasses.

He remembered her reciting something for college, though he couldn't remember exactly what it was, but one line came rushing back to him. "...that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion..."

Slowly, he stood, holding her to his chest like a baby. Her arms twined around his neck, trying to hold on, not just to him but also to life.

"Is this what you wanted, Redfield?" The man asked, glaring at the brunette.

"Wesker..." The girl in his arms whispered, her arms dropping to hang limp. Slowly, her breathing came to an end, her body went limp, and her head dropped.

Wesker growled at Chris, who slowly lowered his gun. Why had the damn kid stepped in the way?

"Blood on your hands," Wesker snarled, the blood staining the black leather crimson.

Life left her, and Wesker spun on his heel, still carrying her. He was Albert Wesker, and this devotion did not deserve to-and would not-go unrewarded.


End file.
